Somewhere I Belong
by setsujou
Summary: After Draco's father is captured in fifth year, he has to live through the disgrace of his family name, and try and overcome the person his father created. HD, DarkF, no WAFF!
1. Leaving

This story has been written to explore the dark side of fan-fic, and add some further spice to the giant cocktail of fics. It does contain adult references, so if anything above a PG-13 rating offends you, please discontinue reading now. If you keep on reading, either enjoy eagerly and wickedly, or cover your eyes and hum in a deranged way. I don't like reading abusive reviews. However, constructive criticism totally rocks my world so feel free to type away, or just review with anything. How was your weekend? .. Anyway, I'm jetting, enjoy, and send me any URLs to any funky stories you know.  
  
After Draco Malfoy's father, Lucius, was captured in fifth year, Draco's life was severely changed. Without his father, the man who had taught him every hatred he knew, Draco finally had the freedom to be himself. But how can he do this when he has never known anything but hate? Draco challenges everything he knows to find out who he really is, and with a little help from Hermione Granger, the one person he thought he'd always hate, he finds himself- and somewhere he belongs.  
  
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Draco Malfoy's cold, pale hand slipped as it turned the wide metal doorknob to his room above the Three Broomsticks. Sighing, he wiped his sweaty palm along the length of his travelling cloak. Grasping the doorknob roughly, he pushed the door open then swore loudly as it swung back at him, bouncing back from the force the door hinges had to take. Disregarding any prior agreement with himself to be quiet and therefore unnoticeable, he barged into the room and dropped his Hogwarts trunk and broom onto the raw wooden floor. Draco sighed yet again as he hesitated, then closed the door softly, quietly walking around his things before collapsing on the bed at the far end of the room. Even though he was somewhere he had never been before, without the rich comforts his home had to offer, he slept deeper and more peacefully then he had in many weeks.  
  
The next morning Draco woke to a constant sharp tapping noise. Even through the groggy morning haze, he knew what the noise was. Pushing himself out of bed, still fully dressed in his travelling gear, he forced the thick glass window open. His large Eagle owl swooped silently into the room and perched on the single dresser. Holding out its leg, it whistled softly to its owner. Draco took the rolled up parchment from the owl, and without even a glance tore it up. He knew it was from his mother. He knew it was about him leaving. He therefore knew he didn't want to read it. He stared at the owl until it moved uncomfortably under his steely gaze. "I.." He began weakly, his voice getting stronger as he continued. " I.. will. NOT be going home. NEVER! Do not come back to me! I hate everything from there! EVERYTHING! DO NOT COME BACK TO ME!"  
  
In a fit of rage and hatred he slammed the window shut after the already retreated owl, with such force that the thick glass shattered and spread across the floor. A sudden stab of pain made him look down and see a heavy gash along his forearm. Blood dripped onto the floor as he sank to his knees. It ran down his limp fingers and speckled the greying floor. It didn't hurt, he realised. Not as much as the pain inside of him. The pain which gnawed at his gut, throbbing throughout his chest as his throat tightened. It had been many years since Draco had felt a tear slide down his cheek. And now his father was gone, locked away and disgraced, Draco had the freedom to cry. 


	2. Anxiety

Draco Malfoy had never loved his life. Fair enough, he was spoilt, rich, and the only son and heir of one of the last, most affluent and renowned wizarding families. He was naturally smart - perhaps not book smart, but he knew the right end of a broom stick. unlike his school associates, Crabbe and Goyle. He was not handsome, but shockingly good looking, with white blonde hair and piercing grey eyes. Life, as everyone who knew him had guessed, had been extremely easy for him. He wanted, he got. Yet, he had always felt. empty. Lost somehow. He knew his father was an important man, yet he was a cold man, never once had he hugged Draco. That didn't bother Draco much, as he himself was both cold and cruel. His mother had always loved Draco. She would give him everything. But even for a spoilt rich kid there was a limit to what he could take. And he knew it was to gloss over the darker things in his life. The constant jibes of his father, how he invited over strange 'guests', how he hated muggles.  
  
Draco had hated muggles too. He was brought up that way, why would he think any different? He knew he was better then them. It was evident in what he had, what he knew, and what they didn't have or know. It was evident in the beatings he received when young if he sympathised with a muggle, or a mudblood. So he learnt his lesson, he hated anyone that wasn't pureblood, wasn't rich, wasn't attractive, wasn't smart. Draco Malfoy grew up hating everyone except his mother. When his father had been arrested, Draco should have been happy. It was him and his mother, no beatings, no tauntings. But his mother hadn't been the same. she was different. His mother needed Lucius to survive, and now he was gone, she wasn't surviving. Narcissa Malfoy refused to leave the house, and slowly spiralled into what Draco could only explain as psychotic.  
  
When Draco left where he had spent the entire 16 years of his life, he had nowhere to go. He had travelled to the three broomsticks, wearing the hood of his travelling coat low for fear of being recognised. It had been so. convenient. to receive the letter from Hogwarts asking him to return. Draco knew it was on Dumbledore's part, as he had always taken in the strays, the people Draco and his family had hated. And now he had taken in Draco. And Draco realised, not for the first time, nor the last, that he hated himself. He hated what he was. He had been brought up hating, and he disliked everything so much because he despised himself. He saw himself becoming his father, and this tortured him so much he felt sick, felt his stomach almost tearing in disgust.  
  
Draco Malfoy lay down in his bed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, alone in the dorm. The others, being the sons of death eaters, had not returned for their sixth year. For this, Draco was grateful. He wanted to be alone, feeling his stomach twist inside the emptiness of his gut. He felt his arm throb where the glass had cut him, and as his other hand gently massaged the wound he wished that it had been a little deeper. A little more closer to the vein. If it had been, he knew he wouldn't be laying here wishing so desperately to be one of those people he had once hated so much.  
He couldn't lay around any longer. He didn't want to be by himself. He didn't want to be around any one else either, but he couldn't just lay around despising himself. He didn't know what he might end up doing.  
  
Draco slowly wound his way through the corridors of Hogwarts. Not many people were around, the evening meal was on, and would be for quite some time as everyone mingled and discussed last years events. He came to the door way of the library, and after a slight pause decided to go inside. The library was bound to be empty, first day back, the feast on. Draco grabbed the nearest book and plonked down into a thick armchair. After ten minutes or so he realised he was reading an old philosophy text, to which he had no interest in. At all.  
  
He yawned and looked around the library for something better to read. Deciding to get up and check it out, he walked the narrow isles, not seeing anything but a haze. He thought of his mother- she had been there all along in the back of his mind, only immediately coming to the surface, bringing along feelings of anxiety with her. He stopped and bent down, trying to catch his breath as the world spun. He walked to the nearest window sill, desperate to sit down. Draco Malfoy let out a gasp as he stumbled into something sitting on the floor. He wiped his eyes as he heard a familiar voice.  
  
"Watch it Malfoy!" He looked up, and his grey eyes met brown ones. He stopped, closing his eyes, and took in several deep gasps.  
  
"Malfoy. What are you doing? You don't look too well." Hermione Grangers voice was not filled with concern, but a curious nature. Regaining his composure, he looked at her, curious himself. "What are you doing in here Granger? Where are Potter and Weasel?"  
  
"Oh, forget it," she responded, "Just forget it." She stood up, and now, towering over him, Draco saw the redness of her eyes. He stared. He didn't know what to say. Mixed emotions flashed through him. He instantly felt dislike looking at her, but that was what his father taught him. What he wanted. Draco stared at Hermione, these thoughts flashing through him. She knew something was wrong with him, but she wasn't his friend. If she tried to help, he wouldn't accept it. She knew he hated her.  
  
Hermione turned to leave, a confused expression on her face. Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. She stopped, and slowly turned. He didn't know what he was doing, had no idea. She looked at him, sideways through her long hair. Draco slowly rose, standing above her.  
"Granger. I." He stopped. What was he doing, he didn't know her, didn't owe her anything. She looked at him squarely.  
Shock flittered over her features, a fraction of a second. She regained her composure, lowering her eyes, taking back her hand.  
".I know" She said quietly. "Everything is changing." She quickly turned and left without a glance over her shoulder.  
  
****  
  
As Draco lay in bed for the second time that night, her voice played repeatedly through his head. Everything was changing. His life had changed. Hers had too, he supposed, with her friends. After all, Potter was depressed at the death of that man his father had killed. Draco rolled over and sighed, knowing everything was changing - he felt remorse at what his father had done. 


End file.
